


Solving For X

by Covenmouse



Category: Green Hornet (2011)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/pseuds/Covenmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kato thought he had Britt all figured out until a last minute surprise has him reevaluating his old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solving For X

I like numbers; they’re remarkably solid for a concept. Contrary to popular belief they do change--mostly when other numbers are involved. The reassuring thing about it is that they change in patterns. You can predict them, track them, make magic with them; I do, often.

The other popular belief about numbers is that they don’t apply to human behavior. I call bullshit.

Like numbers, people tend to change because of other people. We modify our behavior based upon who is around us, our location, class, sex, nationality--all variables that work with and against our base personalities in an ever expanding algorithm. Most people you only know long enough to see the short problems. Others, you get to solve for ‘x’.

Your ‘x’ was that you were a dick.

If you were here, you’d pout and tell me that I’m a dick. Well, yeah, I kind of am. I always figured that’s why we got along. Except when we didn’t.

Those were the bad times, though. Despite ourselves we always seemed to have fun. Fun doing things that were admittedly bad ideas. Always seemed to work out, even when I thought it wouldn’t.

Except when it didn’t.

All I wanted was to keep myself alive. It was a small goal, I guess, but it seemed important at the time. When you don’t have anyone but yourself, your world can be rather small. I drifted through life with various groups of friends--gangs--through job after job, boss after boss, until I got to you. You were a dick, but it was a kind of dick I could tolerate. You were noble, underneath your selfishness, and you made me want to be noble, too.

Except when I wasn’t.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. I like numbers, but I lost track of them when it mattered.

We buried you in that cemetery you liked. You remember it--the one you insisted was haunted. There was an open spot beneath an oak. I thought you’d like it.

Lenore brought the flowers. I put up the headstone. It’s a statue of black beauty, the horse--no one really gets it, except me and Lenore. Not that they should, even if its eyes glow green at night. What? You know you’d love it.

Besides, it was the least I could do.

I got the call a week after. They were probably double checking to make sure they had it right. If the rumors weren’t already there, they are now in force. I can’t read a paper without some speculation, except yours. Lenore’s.

The money went where you wanted it. The kids' programs, the rehab centers, the social rights movements. Me.

You dick.


End file.
